Miasma
by Pigloo
Summary: The closer you get to the meaning, the sooner you'll know that you're dreaming. Harry


_Miasma_

.:=======:.

_Sirens._

The ominous sound rung in his ears, forcing him to place his hands over them to shield from the noise. "Damn, my head…." He suddenly felt faint and he collapsed to the tiled floor. He could hear Lisa speaking to him, her voice wavering in confusion and concern. He watched her red heeled shoes back away.

"Harry, let me help you…."

.:==:.

He awoke on a hospital bed, alone in a room back in that world where 'normal' was slightly more relative. "Was I dreaming?"

"You were too late."

He looked up to see the old lady from the Church. "It's you…."

"Yes, Dahlia Gillespie."

Harry stood. "Tell me everything you know. What's going on?"

"_Darkness. _The town is being devoured by darkness. Strength must overcome petty desire. Childish sleep talk." She smiled triumphantly, but Harry couldn't meet the distant gaze of her eyes. "I knew this day would come."

He shook his head. "What are you talking about? I don't understand a word of this."

She kept smiling as she pulled out a green key from a pocket. "Believe the evidence of your eyes."

.:==:.

Harry paused at the hole in the wall. "Cybil?"

"Yes?" He turned to her.

"Do you know anything about…well, like some other world…It's like some kind of bad dream?"

His flashlight shined on her bemused expression. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm not sure. I try to make sense of it, but then my mind goes blank." He looked towards the cement floor and closed his eyes, like he was trying to envision it more clearly. "Everything's dark there, and I hear sirens in the distance. I met this nurse…Lisa. It's like I was there, but not really." He looked back to her, turning his hands around in a sort of circular gesture. "It's all a blur. Like some kind of hallucination, you know?"

Cybil hesitated, then said, "I have no idea what you're talking about, Harry." His eyes widened.

"Oh…I was just wondering." He sighed heavily. "Never mind."

"Harry." She placed a hand on his shoulder. He flinched. "You're tired." He stared at her hand for a moment before shrugging it off and turning back to the hole in the wall.

"Yeah, maybe…."

.:==:.

The altar was burning.

He had felt the sudden heat before he saw it, heard the embers crackling on the wood and center pieces before he smelt the now smothering smoke. He turned and gasped at the scene, quickly wishing that he hadn't as he began choking on the dirty fumes. The fire had started so fast and seemingly without any cause that he couldn't help but wonder, _'how did that even happen?'_

He tried to back up from the flames but found that he couldn't move from his spot. Becoming dizzy, he fell down to his knees, coughing as felt the heat licking up his hands and arms and across his face, catching on his jacket. Even though he could see and feel and smell his flesh and clothing burn, this pain was different from his previous injuries. It seemed to be cleansing him of all the filth he hid just under his skin; his stress and fears flaring and turning to ash. It somehow felt _right_. _'Maybe it was supposed to.'_

An image of the young girl in blue flitted across his mind then, and something about her reminded him of Cheryl. And, despite that she wasn't there, he had never felt such closeness to her. Had never wanted her more. "Cheryl…." The black smoke clouded his vision and he soon passed out.

Somewhere he vaguely heard his name.

.:==:.

He awoke on a bed again, devoid of any burns. He carefully sat up and moved his legs over the edge of the mattress. "Where am I?" He saw Lisa sitting in a chair in front of him, waiting patiently. She smiled weakly at him, but he only looked away. "Then I'm in the hospital."

"You were having a bad dream," she said.

"Was I?" He could still feel the flames lingering on his skin. He glanced up at her. She looked so ragged. "Hey, you don't look too good. Are you okay?"

Panic appeared in her eyes for a brief moment as she suddenly tensed, but she quickly regained what little composure she had left and smiled again, shaking her head. "I'm fine. Nothing you need to worry about."

He didn't.

.:==:.

Harry awoke face down on a frigid cement floor, feeling the warmth of his body being drained by it. His mouth was dry. "Was that another dream?" He didn't remember falling asleep. "Did I pass out again?" He pushed himself up to his knees and slowly stood, taking a few shaky steps. _'I don't want to think so, but maybe this is all just going on in my head.'_

Using his flashlight as a guide, he carefully returned through the tunnel back into the shop. Cybil wasn't there. The weight and feel of the handgun in his jacket pocket was his only comfort.

His head felt heavy, like a brick. He touched his temple, sending a shock of pain through it. He winced. Stepping outside, he heard his footsteps echoing on the rusted grating that had become the road and the grinding blades of the windmills in the inky distance that his flashlight could show. Shrieks of the flying monsters sliced through the silence of the cold, still air. Suddenly lightheaded, Harry fell against the side of the crumbling building.

'_Rather than shifting from reality to a nightmare, this is more like reality _becoming_ a nightmare.'_

.:==:.

"It's too soon to give up. This craziness can't go on forever." Kaufmann stared at Harry with those stern eyes of his, hard and cold and gray as rocks. Harry had to look away. He leaned against one of the pool tables, distantly hearing Kaufmann speaking as he gazed down at a couple of brightly colored billiard balls resting on the green felt. He rolled the red seven into the nearest pocket. He was beginning to hate that number and color.

"I hope so."

.:==:.

He could see her through the thickening fog. The blue of her dress and pink of her knitted sweater stuck out like a colored beacon.

"Cheryl!" he almost screamed out and started running towards her. He couldn't see her face, only her back as she seemed to be moving away from him. "Cheryl, what are you doing? Cheryl, come back here!" He picked up speed, his shoes pounding against the bare street underneath, but she always kept ahead just out of his reach.

She appeared to be skipping, her shoes missing. She didn't look back once.

"Wait!" The mist tightened its cold grip around him, making it become harder to see even three feet in front of him. He lost sight of her. Panting, he started to slow down. His foot caught in a small hole in the road, causing him to fall on the hard, slick asphalt.

He cried out in pain and struggled to push himself back up. He wiped the blood and gravel off his scraped palms onto his pants. He heard light footsteps and lifted his head up to see Cheryl standing in front of him, shifting from one foot to the other as she stared at him with her eyes full of fear.

"Daddy…help me." Her voice sounded so small. She turned and broke out into a run. Harry immediately stood and took after her.

She went faster now, getting further and further away until she disappeared again.

"Cheryl!" Harry followed blindly in the direction she was going until he reached the edge of a large chasm in the road. He looked out as far as he could over and down the hole, desperately searching for any sign of his little girl.

"_It's like she was walking on thin air."_

"_Cheryl!_" he screamed into the immense fog, but she was already gone.

.:==:.

He woke up gasping, his face wet with sweat and tears. He heard movement next to him and turned to see Lisa stumbling toward him, smiling sadly of fading hope. Blood dripped from her hairline and eyes and nose and mouth, running down and staining her white uniform to match her red sweater. No other color looked better suited for her.

She weakly held her arms reaching out for him in a hug and he vaguely noticed that he was pushing himself away from her.

"Harry please…let me…help you…."

But she could never even help herself.

.:==:.

He awoke on a seat back in Café 5to2, barely able to keep himself from slipping off. He could only remember blackness; had he fallen asleep? There was a dull pain in his back but he may have been only imagining it. He had a memory of dark alleys and wheelchairs and something awful with sharp knives but he couldn't remember why. "Was I dreaming?" He looked across the diner to see Cybil sitting on one of the bar stools, hunched over with her arms hanging down. Harry sat up, beginning to stand.

"Cybil, there you are—, "he stopped as she moved herself. Stiffly she stood, taking a few staggering steps forward. She kept her head down and back rounded. Harry paused, suddenly feeling a chill in the room. "Cybil, are you okay?" She jerked slightly, stepping forward twice. Slowly, she straightened her spine and looked up at him. Her eyes glowed dimly red.

She reached for her handgun in its holder and aimed it directly at him.

"_Before you pull the trigger, know who you're shooting."_

She didn't hesitate.

.:==:.

Harry woke to an agonizing, penetrating shot in his chest. Gasping in shock, he opened his eyes to see blackness surrounding him. He was lying on his back on a grated floor, unable to move. He struggled, but he couldn't get himself to stand. He swallowed, trying to calm himself down enough to figure out where he was.

It was snowing. Small white flakes fell from the pitch black sky, highlighted by the thin beam of his light, melting instantly upon him and the metal ground. His breaths came out in shuddering white puffs, shivering despite the flakes cooling against his raw, red skin. He glanced around himself, not seeing anything around him, not even buildings. He was utterly alone.

He then noticed how much his skin itched. Radiating heat, it was blistered; little pinpricks of pain dotted every inch of him like he was being bitten by a thousand ants. He writhed on the rough textured ground. He had the instinctive feeling like he was on fire.

'_Cheryl…Cheryl, where are you?' _There were multiple sharp pains in his sides and back, and he could feel them oozing. Achingly, he managed to lift his back enough to slip his hand under to check what the damage was. Through the bloodied, torn fabric of his jacket and shirt he touched the deep, messy punctures in his flesh. _'Was I…stabbed?'_ He brought his hand back out. His fingertips were now coated in red. His breathing pitched; he was starting to become weak, colors spotting his vision.

'_I could have had a car accident, and now I'm lying unconscious in a hospital bed.' _But he knew that wasn't really true. He shakily lifted an arm and held his hand in front of his face. There were bloody scrapes on his palms, but he couldn't remember how he got them. He could feel something warm dripping into his eyes and down his face from his hairline. He tasted blood in the back of his throat.

He dropped his arm. Harry stared up at the black ceiling, his dimming light shining weakly into the vast dark. _'Maybe this is all just going on in my head.'_

"_Believe the evidence of your eyes."_

"I don't know what's real anymore." Sirens began to ring somewhere in the back of his mind, and he couldn't cover his ears this time to block out the noise. He figured they seemed appropriate now. They signaled the beginning and the end.

"_It's too soon to give up."_

Harry closed his eyes as his flashlight's bulb flickered out. "Cheryl…I'm sorry."

He was just so tired.

.:==:.

End.


End file.
